


Knowing When To Walk Away

by VerityR



Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blair leaves the UES, Chuck never goes to Prague, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Season 3 AU, is the extent of the AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 12:05:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4019116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerityR/pseuds/VerityR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair flees the Upper East Side after her initial break-up with Chuck, trying to keep her distance as he spirals into self-destruction. Can she pick up the pieces without cutting up her hands in the process? Does she even want to try? </p>
<p> "The first time it happened, she came and went, finding she couldn’t go home again. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knowing When To Walk Away

He had asked her to marry him. Chuck Bass. Chuck Bass had asked her to marry him, less than an hour after fucking some little blonde. One who, let it be remembered, had tried to ruin her life more times than she could count. In all fairness, the life ruining had been somewhat mutual, but Blair was no longer in the mood to be fair. Not that she was mad, of course. Not really. At least, not anymore. Her life was not a movie, and Blair had to stop expecting it to work like one. She didn’t need a relationship that operated on empty romantic gestures and ill-advised second chances. She could do way better, and in fact, would insist on it from now on. Her life might not be a movie, but she was still Blair fucking Waldorf.  
Yes, she was really and truly almost completely over her heartbreak. She swore. A summertime jaunt to Paris with her best friend had done a lot to take off the edge. And then there was the news of her acceptance to Yale. The transfer had been a last minute decision, one that had required a considerable amount of string pulling, in light of her high school misdeeds. But this was energy she could afford to expend, work that she even enjoyed. New Blair schemed for good. Or, at least, not with active malicious intent. She had a more important goal now, namely, herself. She looked forward to nothing more than putting everything in recent history behind her. Blair Waldorf would not be some tragic heroine, defined by romantic entanglements. She was going to get through Yale, graduate in two years instead of three, armed with AP credits and sheer willpower. From there, law school- Columbia, probably. Maybe stay on at Yale if she felt she could stand New Haven for such a prolonged period of time. And soon, with the connections of two lawyer dads, the world would be Blair’s for the taking. Or at least New York. Then and only then, might she look back fondly on her youthful indiscretions: “That one year Blair went to NYU and dated Chuck Bass”. But it would be no more than a footnote in her memoir. It was time to get to work.  
•  
The first time it happened, she came and went, finding she couldn’t go home again. 

Blair looked like hell, wearing her roommate’s sweatshirt and jeans that had seen better days (those days being somewhere around 2007). She swept her hair away from her sticky, sweaty forehead, and shakily exhaled, trying to process the image that lay before her on a hospital bed.  
"Miss me that much, lover?" he said, and a shiver ran through her body. Chuck was as obnoxiously sarcastic as ever, even when it was so, so inappropriate. What else should she have expected, really? Out of breath, unbelieving, and on the verge of anxious laughter she choked out a response.  
"Y-You're awake. You're okay,” Blair caught her breath, finding she couldn’t help but smile, "I mean, you're still an asshole, but you're okay."  
Chuck grinned. "Right on both accounts, Waldorf."  
And again, that shiver passed through her body, leaving her cold. Waldorf? Really? Like it was junior year again, and she was just Nate's frigid little girlfriend.  
"So we're on a last-name basis now?" Blair asked, cocking an eyebrow, not willing to let him slide.  
"That's what happens, princess,” he drawled, “People grow apart. Some go to college, others-"  
"What, Chuck? Others mishandle Fortune 500 companies and drink themselves to an early grave?" Blair knew she must’ve sounded hysterical, but was overcome by a resentment she had forgotten was there. Resentment that wasn’t mixing so well with her purportedly platonic concern for his wellbeing.  
"Please,” he scoffed, “Don't act like you're suddenly so concerned about my welfare now that an opportunity for a public appearance has come up."  
"Public appearance? You think you’re so goddamn important, that you’ve got me all figured out? What, do you think the public is just dying to see what Chuck Bass’s ex is wearing to his fucking hospital room? That Columbia Law is going to be cross-referencing my application with my appearances on Page Six? No one’s asking for references from all the alcoholic rich boys I’ve dated on my resume. I came here because, stupidly, I still care when you fuck yourself over.”  
For a brief second, the mask fell, and Chuck’s expression was one of genuine surprise, rather than aloofness or disdain. What, could he really be that surprised she was upset? It hadn’t even been a full-force Blair Waldorf takedown. What had triggered such an… oh. He wouldn’t know she was working towards law school now. God, that vision had sustained her throughout a semi-hellish first semester and… why would he know that? He didn’t know her at all. Waldorf, he had called her.  
“Columbia, huh?”  
Blair didn’t speak.  
She couldn’t be someone new with him. And the way he was acting, like he could recreate their old dynamic when nothing was the same, like he didn’t even want to change. Did he even realize?  
“Blair, I didn’t mean to… I just thought that you- ”  
“You don’t know anything about me anymore. You made sure of that when you fucked Jenny Humphrey.”  
Chuck looked like he had been slapped. Seeing that hurt so evident on his face, lying there so frail and in the hospital, for fuck’s sake- she wished she could take it all back. But she couldn’t, wouldn’t. Every word was true.  
Even so…  
Wanting something doesn't make it right, she told herself, for what was possibly the millionth time. Wanting something doesn't make it right or healthy or okay.  
Chuck opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off quickly by Blair, not certain she could take it, not if he was going to be so smarmy and cold and presumptive.  
“What? What could you possibly have to say to me now, Chuck? How do you expect to talk yourself out of this one?”  
She hated that on some level, she still wanted to hear what he had to say.  
“Three words, eight letters.”  
Blair laughed, emptily.  
“Unbelievable.”  
How many times could he possibly let her down? How many times was she going to allow it?  
“Un-fucking-believable, Chuck. Tell me, am I wearing a headband and a schoolgirl skirt? Because you seem to be under the impression that I’m still seventeen!”  
“I never-” he paused, expression unreadable, “It- it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not between us.”  
Blair pushed back her hair again, trembling, still laughing, laughing.  
“Really, Chuck! Enlighten me! What was the Bass master plan?”  
He tried to answer, but she pushed through, eyes manic, voice breaking. He would let her speak, goddamnit, after what he had done she deserved to at least speak.  
“Oh, you mean it wasn’t part of the plan for me to fuck your uncle? No, no, don’t tell me, I know. I was supposed to fuck him, carry the guilt of cheating on you for the rest of my life, satisfied that, well, at least I got my boyfriend a fucking hotel!”  
“Lower your voice, Blair, please.” he said, through clenched teeth.  
“Oh, am I making a scene? Or just making you guilty?”  
“This isn’t about me feeling guilty, if you would just let me talk- ”  
“Stop. Just stop.”  
Blair took a breath, more shaky than she’d like to admit.  
“You really don’t get it. I came here because I’m your friend, and because I’m worried about you. You do not get to treat me like any other girl. You do not get to flirt with me. Why do I even have to say that?”  
“Blair, I’m not-”  
“Chuck, please. The whole star-crossed lovers act has an expiration date. We’re adults now, like it or not,”  
Thankfully, he didn’t try to interject again. This was hard enough already. Why did it feel like a break up if they hadn’t been together in so long? Why did letting him go feel like cutting off a limb? But if he was a limb, this was amputation. Necessary for any chance of survival. Blair sighed, needing some release, and sat down at the chair by his bed. She thought about holding his hand, maybe just for a second? But no- just… no. That impulse alone should be enough to convince her of her choice.  
“It doesn’t matter that I love you,” she said quietly, not even sure she had spoken aloud, “And it doesn’t matter if you still love me. You… you’re sick, Chuck. You need to make some serious changes, not be constantly reminded of the past. We both need to grow up and let go. So this is it. This has to be it.”  
Blair paused for a moment, waiting for him to speak, searching his face for- for what? She had said what she needed to say. All that was left was to say goodbye. It was only polite, really. Blair leaned over, kissed his cheek. For a moment, it all came rushing back, and every molecule in her body buzzed and shivered.  
She thought he might try to kiss her, really kiss her.  
She needed to get out of there.  
Inhaling, gathering up her willpower, she turned to go.  
“I do.”  
Blair paused, already halfway out the door. If she didn’t go now…  
“Love you still, that is,” Chuck said, and could hear him getting up, machines beeping. But she didn’t turn around.  
“I love you.” And it was a plea, a prayer, and he was standing by her now, a hand placed tentatively on her shoulder.  
Blair closed her eyes, steeling herself, refusing to look back. The decision was already made. She shrugged off his hand from her shoulder, walking away, leaving him only with whispered parting words:  
“That isn’t enough anymore.”  
•  
The second time, she wasn't there. It happened, just the same.

Chuck had seen her online profiles before that night, of course. Not that he made a habit of- what had Serena called it, again? Facebook stalking? No, he had to have those things, for the business. KC had said as much. And following Blair? A necessary courtesy. One that made sure he saw every inanely-themed, cheap beer-fueled party, every complaint about torturous papers or insane professors, every candid polaroid with her new best friends. Was he jealous? No, no, no. Chuck Bass, jealous? At what, the mundane catalogue of collegiate life?  
Besides, he had almost perfected the art of being numb, as evidenced by his reaction that day to the “Vote of No Confidence” letter placed squarely on his desk. Chuck picked it up with shaking hands, Lily looking at him across the desk with that oh-so-motherly look of concern. He let it fall from his fingers and laughed. He laughed and laughed and laughed.  
"Charles?" his stepmother had said, eyes wide, "I expected you to be more, well,” her hands fluttered at her collarbones, weighed down with jewels.  
“Spare me, Lily.” Chuck said with a smile that failed to reach his eyes.  
“Not that this is meant as punishment,” she said, trying to soften the blow, “but the board is worried,” she changed tactics- “We're all worried. Not just for the company, but for your wellbeing."  
And wasn't that just fucking hilarious? He was going to be pushed out of his father's company. But for his own good, he was being assured. Sure! Fine! Who cared about losing everything they’ve ever worked for! Who cared about what he had sacrificed for this company! How could he take offense, if it was for his own good…  
God…. Bart had to have known. He had to have known his fuck-up son just wouldn't be able to hack it. Of course he couldn't! Bart had always known… hell, Chuck had always known. The only person who had ever really believed in him well… just look how that ended up.  
Nothing good lasted for him. Nothing good stayed.  
"Charles, please. Don't you have anything to- to say for yourself?"  
But he didn't. How could he?  
Which is how he ended up alone his penthouse, Nate being gone for the weekend, with nothing to do but kill time. He masturbated half-heartedly, not willing to even exert the energy to call one of his regulars. He came, and for a second and a half was the happiest goddamn person on the planet. But as always, the fallout of the release left him lower than he had been when he started. The endless cycle: get high or come, feel like fucking killing yourself, numb yourself however you can. Rinse and repeat.  
And repeat he did, popping some pills and opening his laptop. Gossip Girl was still his homepage, although it had lost its appeal of late. He needed to mainline his source of distraction, something quicker. And so, social media.  
It started out innocently, just scrolling, the endlessly refreshing content keeping his mind quiet, with some help from his pharmaceutical friends. Until, the picture. Serena had posted it, an old picture, one of the millions they had taken together as a group at prom. He scrolled passed it quickly, but the damage had been done, her image ingrained in his retina.  
Blair.  
It hurt to even think her name.  
He filled his highball with scotch.  
"Blair."  
Saying out loud hurt even more.  
He drank.  
Why had he said that out loud?  
He drank.  
Why did he do this to himself?  
The ultimate question, that. The one Lily and Nate and Serena were forever asking him. The one he saw in Blair's eyes every time he fell apart, leaving her to pick up the pieces.  
Stop.  
He had to stop. He knew he had to. Was supposed to. To stop thinking about everything he did wrong, letting every failure echo in his mind, and then drowning out the pain. The drowning was bliss, until he was resuscitated, every time being left with a new tally mark on the "Chuck Bass Fuck-Ups" list.  
And so he scrolled, scrolled, letting the faces of middle-ages colleagues' children blend together with high school acquaintances he had long been out of touch with. He read comment threads a mile long, watched videos loop silently, anything to be nothing. For a while it worked, numbing those pesky feelings into submission.  
But then, of course.  
“Blair Waldorf shared a link.”  
Chuck clicked it. Some joke website, something about the food in one of the Yale dining halls. He didn’t care. He could forget he saw it.  
He drank.  
He opened up her profile in a new tab.  
He drank.  
He clicked her tagged photos.  
He refilled his glass.  
Blair in a dorm room, perched on a bunk-bed strung with Christmas lights.  
He drank.  
Blair at some seedy, townie bar,  
He drank.  
A sports bar,  
He drank.  
Some frat guy kissing her cheek.  
He drank.  
Blair on a hike, on a goddamn hike.  
He didn’t even know her anymore.  
A group Halloween costume.  
He drank.  
Blair standing proudly in front of a Yale pennant with her mother and Cyrus.  
He should’ve been there  
He should’ve disappeared.  
He finished the bottle.  
He woke up to flowers from business associates, Get-Well-Soon cards printed on expensive stationary, with only one thought on his mind.  
Not again.  
•  
The third time passed, mostly the same. She was almost unexpected.

He woke up to white walls, so it had happened again. Almost routine, almost comical. Almost, almost. Doctors came, expressed concern, suggested options. Sure, sure. He played nice, but they would let him do what he wanted. Benefits of being a alcoholic rich boy, he thought to himself, recalling Blair’s phrasing, if they try to make me go to rehab I’ll use my daddy’s company’s money to donate a new wing. Problem solved. It would be fucking hilarious if it wasn’t his life.  
Throughout the day Chuck fielded visitors from the shame of his hospital bed, averting the prying questions with the sardonic humor and wry grins. In succession he saw Lily, Rufus, Serena, Nate, Eric- even the Humphrey siblings made an appearance this time around, though Jenny pointedly avoided eye contact. As comforting as the presence of the few people he hadn’t yet managed to alienate was… he couldn’t help himself. Each time he heard footsteps he thought, it won't be her. It won't be. And it wasn't.  
Poor little rich boy, all this- he looked around the hospital room- and no one to share it with.  
Sleep. Sleep would be relief, and maybe if he was lucky, he just wouldn’t wake up at all. 

"Why do you do this to yourself?”  
He was just groggy enough to believe it was a dream. He blinked a few times, images flashed. Tiny girl: brown eyes, brown hair. Fuck, Blair was there. That meant he could pretty confidently rule out reality. Might as well enjoy it, though.  
“Do what?” he slurred, rolling over to get a better look at Dream-Blair.  
But speaking broke the illusion for both of them. Blair pulled back, as if electric-shocked, smashing her elbow against the wall.  
“Fffffffffffuuuck!” she cursed with her teeth clenched.  
Chuck bolted up, knocking over his I.V. stand in his haste.  
“Blair! What are you- Are you okay?”  
“Am I okay?! I’m not the one in the hospital!” she stage-whispered, cognizant of the late hour, scrambling to pick up the stand.  
“I hate to point it out but…” he gestured around them, not able to suppress a grin.  
She made a face. Which, fuck, he was the cause of. Again.  
“Don’t,” she whispered, shaking her head, “Just… don’t.”  
Everything he said came out wrong, as always. But no, no, it hadn’t always with Blair. It never used to.  
“I don’t know what I did to- please, just let me say this one thing. Is that okay?”  
he asked, softly, wanting so badly to cup her face and kiss her and make her smile. Who was he kidding? Chuck could barely talk to her anymore without inciting rage-tears, let alone actually make her happy.  
But still, Blair acquiesced, nodding, exhaled deeply. She looked impatient, but she was there.  
“I don’t know what I did to deserve…” - he trailed off slightly, not wanting assume this was a second chance- “… uh, whatever this is.”  
“Answer me,” she said, suddenly, throwing him off. “What I said before, when I thought you were sleeping.”  
He grinned, but the only thing funny was his shitshow of a life.  
“I keep asking myself the same thing, Blair.”  
“Because, because,” she drew in a breath, “you act like this is- like its nothing, like you're Chuck Bass so nothing can hurt you, no big deal if I get my stomach pumped, no big deal if I crash a car, no big deal if I fucking OD?!"  
"It isn't a big deal, Blair." he said, insistent that it wouldn’t be, if that was what she wanted, what she needed, "Or maybe it was but…you're here now, and I- I’m fine.”  
"No. No. You don't get to do this. It isn't fair." She was shaking her head, not even bothering to wipe away the fat tears that came rolling down her face, unbidden.  
Chuck reached out, cupped her face, wiped her tears with the pad of his thumb. And- he did it without thinking, but in all honestly, he wouldn’t have been able to help himself even if he had- gently pulled her in, kissing her.  
It could have been the first time.  
Tender, slow at first, as if asking permission. Nothing like it had been before. She parted her lips slightly, deepening the kiss. It all happened so fast, they might say later- his one hand cradling her neck, the other tentatively coasting on the slope of her hip. Pulling her closer, closer. Hungry, exploratory, both seeking comfort. Not knowing if they were trying to go back to that place that might not even exist anymore, or if this was uncharted territory. All they knew was they needed more, neither thinking as she clamored on top of him. She paused for a half of moment, rested her forehead on his, looked into his eyes and-  
It could have been the last.  
“You could have died,” she whispered, still straddling him, tears pricking at her eyes again.  
“I didn’t though, Blair, I’m right here,” he murmured, pulling her off and to the side, so they were facing each other, placing a kiss on her forehead. “Right here.”  
“Can we- I need to… to not talk for a minute.” Blair declared, sidling up to him.  
Chuck was more than happy to comply, letting himself luxuriate in the in-between of the moment. Even if she went away forever, they had this. Her heart was beating, steady, slowly. He wondered if his own would sync up if they stayed there long enough. Blair nuzzled up to his chest, intermittently shaking with quiet sobs. Still, he said nothing, only pulled her closer, rubbing rhythmic circles on the small of her back.  
"I could say that this is it, you know,” Blair said, after a while, sniffling, “That-that I can’t just come pick up the pieces, and- and- slice up my own hands in the process.”  
This was it, he thought. The end, yet again.  
“But I know it’s not true,” she said, with a sigh, “I can’t… I can’t help but come for you, Chuck. To be honest, I don’t know how far I’d go for you, and that scares me.”  
He swallowed, unable to speak. Not wanting to ruin it, wanting it, wanting them so badly. But not like this. Not if it hurt her to be there. Blair looked up at him intently, mouth parting again to speak, and he could swear that heaven and eternity and his own fucking soul, all of it was in her eyes for a moment.  
“Our relationship…you pushed that past the breaking point already. But now? Now it’s the same damn thing, you push and push way past when you have to know you need to stop. Not feeling consequences because you don’t let yourself feel them. If you don’t make some kind of change… I just…”  
Blair paused, sat up, looked out the window, her face obscured from his view. He didn’t breathe.  
“I love you, Chuck. But I can’t be the only one.”  
It could’ve been the end. But it might have been a beginning.


End file.
